


healing in crooked circles

by louscr



Series: i said i wanted to worship something [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Communication, Fluff, Hunt!Jon, Lonely!Melanie, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Recovery, Slaughter!Martin, Tea, i shouldve been using that tag this whole time, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24314851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louscr/pseuds/louscr
Summary: (He can hear the sharp song of blood pooling in cupped palms and the creak of woven webs in every corner of his head, and he can't be sure what's real.)"Are you okay?" Jon whispers beside him, wide eyes scanning him carefully, gleaming in a way that Martin had nearly forgotten in so many years.Martin watches back, sees the concern and love and tired, gentle empathy. Jon's hand winds through his and squeezes.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: i said i wanted to worship something [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539373
Comments: 5
Kudos: 113





	healing in crooked circles

**Author's Note:**

> another little interlude to introduce another character and! show how martin's doing because i love him!
> 
> also, sorry this is so drastically late, its been a rough few months between everything going on, mental health, and finishing spring courses and starting summer ones rip.

The stillness feels like bleeding-out, as though his life is draining from idle hands and his heart has shredded itself upon all his anger and sharp edges. It makes Martin want to hide and run and slip into a crowd and tug those familiar and burning threads he knows so well until blood spills red and melodious across the floor.

It makes Martin want to break, shatter and listen to the drum-beat pulse of blood aching in his teeth.

Instead, he holds Jon's hand and watches the idle motion of the park they're sat in. 

_ (He can hear the sharp song of blood pooling in cupped palms and the creak of woven webs in every corner of his head, and he can't be sure what's real.) _

"Are you okay?" Jon whispers beside him, wide eyes scanning him carefully, gleaming in a way that Martin had nearly forgotten in so many years. 

Martin watches back, sees the concern and love and tired, gentle empathy. Jon's hand winds through his and squeezes.

"I think I will be."

* * *

Jon explains how it had worked for him, when they're curled up on the couch and pressed against each other, his hair wispy and ticklish against Martin's cheek.

He tells Martin about starving and fear and moderation. He shakes with emotion, tells Martin about curling up on the dorm room floor and biting through his own lip, blood against his tongue like sugar. Then of humanity, and Martin's teeth ache with missing that part of himself.

"I want to try," Martin tells Jon, forehead pressed to the back of the other man's neck. The warmth of his skin almost keeps the itch from Martin's palms, and he nearly cries beneath the relief of it.

One of Jon's hands wraps around the arm Martin has draped across his narrow shoulders and squeezes. "You won't do it alone." He promises, "You'll have me, and when I can't be what you need Georgie will be there, like she was for me."

_ (Martin isn't sure he deserves this, this trust that burns like acid in his veins, but he never wants to let it go.) _

"Thank you," he presses to Jon's skin, not for the first or last time and he can feel him sink backwards, pressing tighter to Martin's chest like an oath, a prayer professed gentle and archaic in the twilight of the television's flickering light.

* * *

"I'm going to try to get a job at the Magnus Institute," Jon tells him over lunch, just a few hours after Georgie had left their flat. He looks excited, like the hope of it, of normalcy, is racing through his veins.

Martin can't help smiling, biting into one of the sandwiches they had prepared. "Georgie's idea?" he teases, because he knows Jon and he had heard of the Institute before.

Jon rolls his eyes and flicks a piece of lettuce Martin's way, but fails to hide the smile creeping across his cheeks. 

"Not at all, I was most definitely the one who decided an institute researching the 'strange and esoteric,'" he bares his too sharp teeth, the expression barely sustained through muffled laughter, "would be the perfect fit for me, specifically." 

Martin can't help the laugh that rips out from deep within him, and it erupts like nothing he's ever felt before.

* * *

_ (When Jon leaves for work, there is always the fear that he will slip back into old habits, into rust under the tongue and hands tied to knives.) _

_ (To avoid it, Martin bakes and knits and walks to the nearby coffee shop. Then, if nothing else works, he writes and writes and writes. the pages of his notebook covered in scribbled, messy poetry about hunger and old heartache and above all love.) _

* * *

It is a good day when Martin walks into the coffee shop nearest to his and Jon's apartment. He feels normal in a way that rests over his lungs like warmth and sinks into his fingertips like trust, and he can feel the just falling sun rest warm against his back as he gets into line.

Martin orders and waits and pretends he is a normal man on his lunch break, not something sharp and angry layered up in soft sweaters and a friendly face. 

_ (Pretends he is not something whose being is roses falling from wounds and the tug of silk around a throat, all drowned out and masked by love and hope.) _

His name gets called quickly, and the London Fog he had ordered is placed on the small pick-up counter. It nearly burns Martin's palms when he picks it up and he revels in the searing warmth of it.

A few minutes after he takes a seat, a woman lowers herself into the seat across from him, hands wrapped tight around her coffee and brows dipped into a frown. She keeps glancing at Martin, and Martin does the same.

The way she holds herself feels familiar to him, the anger beneath her skin and prickling at her jaw, but it's overshadowed by faded edges and washed out color of her skin and clothes and tired eyes.

"You can see me?" she asks, but it sounds more like a statement. Her voice sounds out of use and is too quiet for the clamor of the cafe and Martin just manages to catch it.

He tries to give her a warm smile, tries to hold onto the steady, good day that its been. "I'm Martin," he introduces himself, and he finds his hand raising to give a small wave despite being mere feet away and it feeling achingly awkward.

_ (It feels  _ human _ , normal, and Martin cant help the smile on his face anymore, all he can feel is hope.) _

"Melanie," the woman replies shortly, taking a large sip from her still steaming cup.

Martin notices her hands shaking against the burning sides of the cup and the goosebumps up her arms. It reminds him of following one of Jon's hunts, when they were still young and sharp and shackled to that unhinged freedom, and his knife sinking into flesh and mist and roiling waves then a young boy shivering with empty, empty eyes in the corner. 

_ (The rest is blurry with the crooning of his lungs and the cymbal crash of his blood in his ears.) _

Before he leaves, and after he rambles to her aimlessly until his drink is nearly gone, carefully watching color fade by the tiniest increments back into her, he offers her his number, promising awkwardly to be there if she needs someone to  _ see _ her again.

Melanie gives him a quick nod and a sad smile before he leaves.

_ (The steam rising from her mug seems thicker the further away Martin gets. He tries not to worry about it.) _

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on tumblr @jonniit! and/or leave a comment!!
> 
> up next (at an indeterminate later date): an introduction to the institute ;)


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